


My Buck-Toothed Addiction

by BL4R1233



Series: My Buck-Toothed Addiction [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, F/F, F/M, High School, Homestuck AU, Humanstuck, Love, M/M, Trolls, Violence, johnkat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 04:50:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1052723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BL4R1233/pseuds/BL4R1233
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karkat Vantas, after being in a horrible accident, finds himself in his old hometown, ready for a fresh start in a new highschool. Little does he know, he's about to pick off right where he left up--head over heels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Home Again

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh for some reason I REALLY wanted to do this, I swear if it becomes a thing I'll try to update it regularly! Bothers in Blood is still a work in progress, too. Enjoy ~

“Here’s your room dear; feel free to paint it or anything, whatever it takes to make it feel more liked home.” Your grandmother worries, holding open the door for you. You give her a tired smile over the stack of boxes in your arms and shimmy your way through to the room. After dropping the boxes, you look around. The room is small, probably no more than a fifteen-by-twelve, with light green walls and soft, cream colored carpeted floors. Sunlight filters through the open window.

Though it is empty, and admittedly, a tad bit stuffy, its abandoned state does nothing to stop the tide of memories that floods over you. This house—this room—is where you spent a great majority of your childhood reading comics, filing through the rom-coms your grandma had shoved in the closet, thumbing lazily on your Gameboy advanced, and spending time with your best friend. You spent the night in this room every weekend up until six years ago—you had only hoped your reunion to the place would be on better terms. 

“It’s perfect Gram,” you say, and pull the soft old woman into a tight embrace. She hugs you back, arms threatening to squeeze the life out of you, but you don’t care. You do care, however, about the small tear you can feel leaking down your face. Before you pull back you swipe it away. You were done crying a long time ago.

“Is there anything you need me to help you with? Moving, unpacking?...” 

You laugh a bit, “No offense, Gram, but you don’t need to be lifting heavy things at your…” your voice dies in your throat at the sight of the eye brow arching elegantly up her face.

“My what dear?”

“You know what, never mind.”  
~*~

The moving van outside your grandmother’s house has yet to grab the attention of the neighbors, as many of them are not up at six-o-clock in the morning on a Saturday. You send a thank you up into the air at this; you don’t feel like dealing with any of them right now. Instead, the movers help heft the bulk of the furniture through the front door, and within the hour the contents of your old room are spilling onto the floor of the tiny living space.

You give them a nice tip, and your grandmother sees them off. When the big, yellow-and-blue truck rumbles down the street the time is nearly seven, and then sun has begun to move more rapidly towards the peak of the sky. Your grandmother steps over a pile of boxes and into your room.

“I need to run some errands, okay? I’ll be back for lunch. Love you.” She says, and you lean down to peck her on the cheek.

“Love you too, be safe.” She frowns and nods, then turns and walks out of the room. Several seconds later you hear the thump of the door closing. You’re on your own now.  
~*~

You are sliding your bed into place when you hear a soft knock at the door. A quick glance at your iPhone tells you that it’s only ten. Wow, she worked fast. Grumbling when you smack your toe against a box, you awkwardly step out of your room and into the hallway. Another knock echoes from the living room.

“Why don’t you just unlock the door?” you mumble. You grasp the silver knob and pull the door open—revealing the last person you’d expect to see.

He is much taller than you remember, though only about an inch taller than yourself, and looks down at you through black-rimmed glasses that sit just beneath the tangle of bangs spilling over onto his forehead. He smiles at you though his ridiculous, buck-toothed grin and stands with his hands clasped awkwardly behind his back.

“John,” you breathe, unable to tear your gaze from those strikingly blue eyes of his. They’re just as wide and sparkly as you remember.

“Karkat!” he exclaims, and you nearly flinch at the deep tones of his voice. Still a bit higher than average, but mellow nonetheless, “I thought that was you I saw unpacking but…it’s totally you! Holy crap, dude!” the boy tugs you into a “bro-hug,” as he used to call them, and you uncomprehendingly wrap your arms around his lean frame. 

“You…hi.” Is all you can manage, and he releases you. His enormous smile widens even farther, and a derpy laugh rips loose from his mouth. You recover from shock just enough to stick a tongue out at him. This makes him laugh even harder. “And just what is so fucking funny?” you ask.

“Your…your voice. It’s so deep.” 

You feel a blush creepy up your face but you do your best to ignore it. “So? It’s called puberty, smart one. Did you come here for any other reason than to snort at me like a pig?”

“Wow, rude,” he holds his hand up to his chest in an offended gesture, “Way to talk to your best buddy, whom I might add, hasn’t seen you in six years! I wanted to make sure you were back for real. Plus, I wanted to see if I could come help if it WAS you.”

“Oh.” And that’s all you can really say. You slap yourself mentally and try again, “That…thanks. I could use the help. And company. Come in, Egderp.” He frowns at the childhood nickname and you step out of the doorway, sweeping your arm in a dramatic gesture.

John sniggers and steps in. “Wow, this place hasn’t changed a bit…” his eyes flicker through the living room, taking in the surroundings. You do the same, letting familiar memories linger in your mind. The living room in large, with two couches encompassing a coffee table, strategically angles to make the place seem opened. The walls were a light brown and the floor was hardwood, bearing the dents and bruises of many childhood endeavors. An arched doorway leads to the impressively pristine kitchen in which you both grew to hate baked goods, and on the same wall to the far left is the opening that leads to the hallway. Without bothering to ask he starts to the left—toward the hallway he knows leads to the rest of the house.

“Room?” he asks, and he doesn’t have to say more; you nod, and you follow him to your room. The taller boy nearly trips over the box content that is spewed all over the floor, and you reach out a hand to steady him. He smiles at you and carefully steps over the mess. “Wow, brings back memories, huh?” 

You nod stiffly and follow him inside. John is sprawled back on your bed, legs and arms splayed. His feet hang off the edges, “We used to sit in here for hours, karkat,” he looks at you and smiles fondly, “Hours.”

You snort, “So I recall you’re purpose here was to HELP me? Not state the obvious like a babbling idiot.” He laughs and in one smooth motion is back on his feet. 

“Yeah, let’s get this mess sorted out.” John stoops over and picks up the first thing he sees; a Disney film, Beauty and the Best. Your old friend raises an eyebrow. 

“Just get cleaning!”  
~*~

“'Bout fucking time,” you sigh, sinking down onto your bed. The room before you is just as spotless as it was this morning, only now adorned with posters, a wall TV, a few shelves, and a dresser. John bangs the last nail into the wall, holding up one of said shelves, and then flops gracelessly onto the bed beside you. The sudden motion causes the bed to jump, and you curse.

John laughs and pokes you in the ribs. You pull away with a growl in your throat (A bad habit you developed after watching FAR too much Lilo and Stitch), and slap the offending phalange away. 

“So, I came in here, cleaned your room, and put up your shelves—can we talk now?” John smiles and sits up on the bed. You sigh and close your eyes. Honestly, if it were up to you you’d be the happiest person in the world by just sitting there in each other’s presence, but hey, John was the best friend you’d ever had.

“Sure, so what’s up?” you ask, eyes still closed.

“What’s up? What’s up? EVERYTHING’S up Karkat, you’ve been gone for years! Let’s see, where to start?” 

You can’t help but chuckle at the ridiculously serious look that’s now plastered to his face. Stupid John, always over exaggerating the smallest things. Though…six years. Has it really been that long? It feels like only yesterday the two of you were laughing like idiots in your granma’s backyard.

“Uh! There’s just so much; I can’t think!” your old friend flails his arms, nearly wacking you in the nose.

“What else is new?” you shoot back, earning you a bark of laugher. An almost-smile plays at your lips and you sit up on the bed. “So you can’t think of anything remotely interesting that’s happened in six years, that’s just sad, John. I know, how about I make your pathetically uneventful life meaningful with a movie? Then you’ll get to say you watched a movie with the most fucking renowned critique of your time,” you pause and place a finger on your bottom lip, “At least, WHEN I become it.”

“You’re such a dork, Karkat. It’s not like we haven’t watched a movie before.” Contrary to his words, John heaves himself of the bed and over to the shelf lined with movies. You are about to forbid him from choosing one of those shitty Nic-Cage films he bought for you on your last Christmas here (you just couldn’t bring yourself to throw them out), when he pulls back his hand with a copy of The Princess Bride. 

Your mouth shuts closed with a click.

“A classic,” he declares, buck-toothed smile on full display, and slips the disk from its cover and into the DVD player. John then clicks the TV on and turns it to the DVD setting. Once the menu pops up, he grabs the remote from the top of the player and vaults into bed next to you.

“Could you PLEASE stop throwing your damn weight everywhere—FUCK John get off me!” your voice rises higher than you intended when he rolls into your lap, butt planted in-between your crisscrossed lap, feet dangling off the side. He props his head on the heel of his hand and wiggles his eyebrows at you.

“Stahp, you nincompoop!” 

“You said poo—oompf.” His sentence is cut short you flip him onto the floor. Laughing, you toss a pillow down on top of his head.

“And STAY there, Egderp!”

John whines, but you can tell he takes no offense. Finally, the two of you quiet down when the movie starts.  
~*~

Having your old best friend there with you, laughing at the more ridiculous parts of the movie, flashing his bid dopey smile—it makes it seem like the accident never happened. Like the two of you are ten again, distracting yourselves with films before John’s mom will come and tell him it’s time to go.

Sadly, the movie is over far too soon, and just as the final credits are rolling off screen and John is babbling on about how sucky it is that Andrea the Giant couldn’t perform anymore, the front door closes in the living room and you hear your grandmother approaching your room.

“Karkat, I’m home dear—oh, Johnathan!” Gram exclaims when she peeks her head in the door. "I’m surprised you found out Karkat was here so soon!”

“Hi, Ms. Brook! Yeah, I saw the moving truck when I woke up and just wanted to see who was…moving in?” his smile falters a bit and he glances at you. Just like that, reality slaps you in the face, leaving an awful dropping sensation in your gut.

“Yeah, moving in,” you say, and stand up to be beside your friend.

“Oh, well, if you ever want to come back over,” Gram pulls John into a hug, “Just knock. I’m sure your company was appreciated, and helpful!” she smiles and looks at the orderly room.

”Haha, of course. Karkat and I were just watching movies. I should get home now, I have rehearsal at one.” John lets go and turns to hug you. Your arms fly around his frame and you hug him fiercely back.

“Seeya, John.”

“Yep! You know where I live if you ever want me!” John detangles the two of you and gives Gram a big hug before jogging out of your room. His exit is noted with the bang of the door closing.

“John…I forgot to tell you he still lived here. He’s a great kid.” Gram smiles at you and you return the gesture. “Well, I’m going to make lunch, be ready in about ten minutes, okay?”

After a nod, she smiles and exits your room. “Sigh…” you breathe, and sluggishly turn. Shuffling your feet, you make your way to the small window of your room and look out. Parallel to you is John’s house. The boy is just now entering. 

Slowly, you put a hand to your chest to check for the flutter of your heart, and yep—

You’re still hopelessly in love with John Egbert.


	2. Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat Vantas, after being in a horrible accident, finds himself in his old hometown, ready for a fresh start in a new highschool. Little does he know, he's about to pick off right where he left up--head over heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long ;-; bad writers block, excuses excuses, etc. This came to around 2,000 words, so I cut it short so I could save for the next update! Working on part three now, so thank you for staying tuned. If this is your first time seeing this, I recommend you read chapter one first.  
> Enjoy~

You don’t sleep much anymore. Whenever you do, your dreams are haunted by their screams—you’re mother’s voice, your parents’ blood—yeah, you don’t get much sleep at all. As this is the case, when your grandmother comes in to say goodnight and leave you with a peck on your forehead and turns off the lights, you lie in your bed, eyes wide open. After about an hour, you think she’s asleep and quietly roll out of bed. Tip-toeing over to the movie shelf, you bring a mental checklist up of what movies you can quote line-for-line. 

Your fingers reach out for the familiar cover—Serendipity. This should keep you occupied for a while.  
~*~

When your alarm clock goes off (Crazy Frog, you love that song), it shows 5:30 am. 

“One hour of sleep?” you grumble, shrugging off your sheets. Blindly, you make you way into the hallway to brush your teeth, smacking on the first valve you can feel for—and nearly shout when you run your hands under scalding water. Well, that woke you up.

Over the next twenty minutes you shower, shrug on your usual baggy black sweater and skinny jeans, and do a double check on your backpack contents. It’s empty, save for a packet of index cards, a pen and pencil, and one large red binder. Five minutes before the bus pulls up you pop a slice of bread in the toaster and practically shove the thing down your throat.

Gram registered you to Prospit High several weeks prior to your arrival, and the school was notified you’d be attending on Monday. Right as the bus pulled up, you sling your backpack (Red, of course) and step out the door into the brisk, November air. It’s colder than you’d expect for Georgia, but hey, you WERE in the mountains. The bus driver grunts at you as you board.

“You Karkat Vantas?” her voice has the intellectual level of a sack of dirt. When she talks, her jowls kinda flap around; it’s gross but so distracting…

“Hello? Vantas?”

“Uh, yes, flap, that’s me—shit, yes mam.” You feel blush rise to your cheeks when she raises an eyebrow, but she does nothing else. The bus driver jerks her meaty hand over her head, “Seat number six, next to Harley.” The name clicks.

“Thanks,” you murmur, and walk quickly down the aisle until you reach six. Is it really her?... A girl of around seventeen stares down at the screen of an iPhone, thumb working quickly to fling enraged birds at smug pigs. As one explodes, her face twitches into a smile.

“Uh…Are you Ja—”

“Karkat!” she squeals, finally taking notice of you. The girl nearly jumps out of her seat to fling her arms around your neck, and you barely manage to choke out, “I—need—air—dammit—” Yep, DEFINITELY Jade.

“Take your seats, please.” The bus driver grunts, and Jade giggles and apology and proceeds to tug you down into the seat beside her. Her eyes shine with intensity, even against the near moonless sky. You twitch your mouth into a smile; though awkward, seeing her again does bring up pleasant memories.

Jade Harley, older sister of John Egbert, botanist extraordinaire, was a major factor in your childhood here in the obscure mountainous town of Skaia. She is a year older than the two of you and should be in her junior year, being seventeen and all. The two are actually half-siblings, and Jade decided to take the name of her biological father. John and Jade’s mom died early in their lives, so they had never actually met her. Jade always told you she looked so much like her mom that her dad couldn’t stand it and left her at her granddad’s here in town, where she’s lived ever since.

“Karkit, it’s you!” she squeals quietly, earning her the collective stares from the kids on the bus who were trying to get some sleep, “John called me to tell me you were back, but it was really late when he got back from practice and I didn’t want to disturb you.” 

You inwardly snort at this; it would have been GREAT to have her as a distraction last night: it wasn’t like you had anything better to do. “Wait, this is the second time I’ve heard about practice. Is he playing baseball again?” you make a face and Jade giggles. The two of you were dragged to soooooooo many of those stupid games when you were younger. 

“No, he’s in marching band.”

“Marching band? Holy shit, Egbert? He plays piano though, doesn’t he?” 

Jade slides up next to the window and draws shapes in the frosted-over glass as she speaks, “He does, but in sixth grade he just really took to band. I guess my flute playing finally convinced him!” she smiles, and you allow the smallest one to pass over your face. She really was a great flutist. 

“I…I’m in marching band too. Or, I was, before I moved.”

Her eyes go wide, “Really? I always saw you as more of an orchadork. What instrument??” 

“Sax. Alto sax,” you say, shrinking back a bit. Her enthusiasm is overwhelming sometimes, “Hey, speaking of the buck-toothed screw-up, where IS he anyway?”

“Practice.”

“IT’S SIX IN THE MORNING!” you gasp—and a little too loudly than you would have liked (okay, it wasn’t a gasp so much as a barely stifled shout, some kid yells at you to ‘shut the hell up already.’) 

“Yeah, he’s part of percussion. They practice sometimes in the morning for the band after party. He left at five-thirty.” She giggles, “Don’t worry, he knew what he signed up for. It’s the price to pay for not being a part of the axillary.”

You end the conversation with a conclusive “oh,” and the two of you lapse into idle conversation until the bus pulls up to the school. It’s dark outside, the only source of light the large orange beams shining down from the overhead passages. A glance at your iPhone and you see that it’s only six-twenty. Sighing, you bid Jade goodbye and tell the bus driver you need to get off early. She offers another one of her grunts, and the doors swing open with a hiss.

Once outside, you pull your schedule from your pocket that your Gram got in the mail yesterday and spend the next thirty minutes locating your classes and fiddling with your locker.

As you make your way to your seventh period class, Spanish, you catch the faint sound of drums. The sound gets louder and louder as you approach the building—H? Yeah, H the one right across from the café—and in about a minute you round the building corner to find about ten kids lined up, each hefting percussion instruments of various types and beating out some amazing rhythms.

They seem to have attracted some other wandering students, and quite a bit of highschoolers are dancing to the steady beat. Head bobbing, you make your way over to the crowd to see if you can catch sight of Egbert. It barely takes you a second to identify him. He’s centered right in the middle, blue drumsticks flying over the many heads of his tenor. His eyes are closed, yet the drumsticks hit so surely, so rhythmically…you can’t help but feel a smile creep over your face.

And far too soon, the drumline stops playing. The group of students cheer and the percussionists begin to make their way to you assume the band room. John is a bit slow, and he is last to leave. You lean up against the building and you swear your heart stops the moment he realizes you’re there.

“Karkat!” he calls, and waves you over. Making a conscious effort not to run over to him and not scurry over like the love-sick puppy you are, you push off the wall and walk over. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to hear how fucking awesome our drumline is. Jade told me you played, so I followed the music and here I am. Mind if I tag along?”

“Nah, not at all. Common, the band room’s in C building. Across the campus.”

“My first period’s in C.”

“Really, what class?”

“AP Lang with Mr. Nelson,” you say, recalling the name on your schedule. You look curiously over at John when a smile blooms on his face.

“Really? Mine too! This is awesome, Rose is there, and some other really cool people you should meet…” You tune out after the mention of Rose: you and she weren’t great friends when you left, so you’re a bit nervous. The rest of your walk to C is filled in with John’s blabbing and your occasional input.  
~*~

“Ah, Karkat! I have been waiting for you to arrive for several weeks now! I’m so glad to finally meet you.” Right off the bat you decide that Mr. Nelson is a loon. He is a man of average height; around 6-foot and probably taller if he didn’t have a horrible slouch. Big brown eyes looked out from between a bulbous nose that stuck out over a wide belly, barely contained by a pair of brown overalls. 

“Ah, I, um—Hi, sir,” you stammer, at a loss of words. Wow, he was cheery—you could tell you’d need to bring aspirin for this class. He takes your—okay, so maybe you were a bit frail—slender, smooth hands in his large, calloused ones and shakes mightily. 

“What a wonderful handshake you’ve got Vantas, just like your old man—” he kind of chokes on his last word and seems so immediately regret his sentence. You flinch, but force a smile on your face.

“Thank you sir, I didn’t know you taught my dad.”

The old man quickly gains composure, “Why, your mother and father were HUGE in this school, I’m glad I’m getting to teach their son—don’t disappoint me.” A huge smile is plastered on his face, and you find yourself inclined to smile back, real this time. Without further ado, he spins you around to face the class. John laughs slightly in the back of the class—shit you must looked flustered. 

A class of curious faces look back at you, obviously amused at your red face. Mr. Nelson seems to take no notice, and clears his throat. “Class, this is Karkat. He moved here from New York, and I want you all to welcome him with your best Southern Hospitality.” The class screeches back ‘hello’ and end up cracking up in a fit of laughter. Wow, people are different here.

Up North you would’ve been met with blank stares and a mumbled hello.

Mr. Nelson gestures towards the back of the class at three empty desks, one of which is next to John. You nod and quickly shuffle to the back of the class. A few eyes follow you back, which you ward off with a slight sneer.

The rest of the class runs smoothly enough, and it turns out Mr. Nelson is an interesting teacher. Sure, he often wanders from the actual LA topic and into political issues and standpoints, you actually feel like you’ve learned something interesting. The class seems to think so too, inputting opinions and comments constantly. When the bell rings you’re a little disappointed to leave, but John’s eager face quickly washes away any lingering feelings of reluctance.

“Rose wasn’t here today, sorry you couldn’t see her. Usually she takes the seat on the other side of me,” he gushes, hands moving wildly as he talks, “But Nelson is pretty cool right? His class is really laid-back, it’s awesome way to start the day.”

You nod, not even really following. You just like the way his mouth curls into all those different shapes and oh fuck you’re staring. “Uh huh.” You say, hoping that was a good answer. He smiles so you guess you said something right, and mentally slap yourself. Pay attention you dolt!

“So…Karkat, what’s your next class?”

“Ms—AGHBDBHKSJFDWHATTHEHELL.” You panic as John suddenly pivots on you, getting waay to close. His hands find yours and his eyes go wide. Ohfuckohshitohgodwhatishedoing?!

“Don’t.Say.A word,” he whispers. And just as suddenly he breaks away, stuffing his hands in his pockets and giving you his buck-toothiest Egbert smile, “I want it to be a surprise! If you’re in my next few classes, then awesome!” 

You can’t even fathom a response you’re freaking out so much. He was so close.

Right there.

In your face.

“Fucking dammit John warn me when you do that…” you mumble, but he is already halfway down the hall. Sadly, you realize he’s going in the exact opposite you need to go. Just as you are about to turn his voice rings out through the cacophony of students,

“Don’t worry! I’ll see you at lunch at least, okay?”

Lunch. Lunch sounded good, if anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, I'm a band geek, and the instruments I chose for Karkat and John I just--I love them, so much xD I really wanted to make John a trumpet player (Like myself :D) but I felt he'd be better as a percussionist. In the marching band he plays tenor, which if you've ever seen it is the thing composed of six drum heads, AND IT IS SO COOL.
> 
> Er hem. Back to the fanfic.
> 
> I appreciate all of you readers, and I really hope you like my work. Feedback and criticism(constructive, please) are always welcomed. Keep a lookout for the next update!


	3. Jaggalos and Wheelchairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat Vantas, after being in a horrible accident, finds himself in his old hometown, ready for a fresh start in a new highschool. Little does he know, he's about to pick off right where he left up--head over heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soory it's been so long .A. We'e had a bunch of finals this week and th next, so I might be a little slow in pumping these out. Enjoy~

The rest of your day goes by as what you’d expect. Math bleeds into social studies bleeds into—bluh—Spanish. Bye the time you trudge out of Senora Lopez’s room you are disappointed and bored out of your mind. 

It’s about 11:10 and lunch is up next. What comes after that? Oh, right. Glancing at your schedule, you see that you have band with Mr. Allen after guided study, which is after lunch. You groan: the band room is two buildings away from your guided study teacher. Eyes glued to the map, you pick up the pace. So absorbed are you in running the quickest route in your head that you barely notice the figure before you collide.

Your foot connects with the hard metal of the wheelchair and with a yelp you fall forward. A strangled cry comes from its occupant as you the two of you tumble sideways. The pristine linoleum rushes up to you and your face hits the tile with a slap—you are aware of the clatter of the wheelchair and realize the fall probably hurt the kid more than it did you and HOLY CRAP YOU JUST KNOCKED OVER A KID IN A WHEELCHAIR.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry!” you push yourself up, simultaneously rubbing your stinging face and reaching out to grab the boy who is looking up at you in a daze. He smiles faintly and reaches for you, but before you can help him up you are grabbed viciously by the collar of your sweater.

A fresh wave of pain washes over your face when you are slammed face-first into the lockers. What the hell? You just manage to worm yourself around before you see a blur of a fist flash beneath your eyes and—a crippling pain erupts in your stomach.

The world around you is a blurry mess of colors and you sink the floor. A deep voice growls from above you:

“Don’t you ever motherfuckin’ touch Tav. I’ll kill a motherfucker.”

What? 

“No! Uh , it was an accident,” a lighter, hesitant voice buzzes in your ear. Hm? Why is the voice so close? Shit the guy must still be on the floor, “He was going to help me up—ah! Thanks, Gam.” Now the voice is above you. Must’ve picked him up…

Nope, you’re SURE he was picked up because now you are, too, being lifted up and up and up until your feet are dangling above the floor. Sickly sweet breath puffs in your face and all you can see are smears of grey and purple. After a moment of fiercely blinking, you can finally see your predicament.

And wow you really wish you had been looking where you were going.

Two brilliant violet eyes tinged with red are staring right at you at eye level. Your aggressor’s face is painted heavily and resembles a clown’s, and those freaky eyes seem to glow from beneath the mop of black hair falling down on his face. It is then you remember you are actually *dangling* and here you are, at eye level with the guy. 

“I…I didn’t mean to knock over him, I swear! It was an accident, I’m new, and—”

“Shut up, I’m trying to fuckin’ think here,” he rumbles, and you freeze up. God, you really don’t want to get beat up today. Suddenly, a smile breaks out over his face, revealing freakishly white teeth, and he gawks at you. 

“Karbro?”

“What? How the fuck do you know me?” You instantly regret you words; stupid past you, always says the fucking *worst* things. As if you’re in an actual position to make demands. Wait. Did he just call you?...

The boy chuckles and pulls you tight, smothering you in his chest and hair and shirt and suddenly you realize that this guy reeks of faygo, and for once, not pot…you know this giant. 

“Gamzee? Shit—is that you?” you don’t even know if he can hear you, your face is pressed so tightly to his chest. You struggle and curse to let him know you would *really* like to be put down now.

As if setting down a glass china doll, Gamzee brings you down to the floor—where you can truly see just how tall the boy is. You’re actually not that tall for your age (shut up you just haven’t hit your growths pert!), about five six. Last you saw him, Gamzee was a scrawny, five-foot-tall little guy with a sort of stoop to his thin frame. Fate has been kind to the juggalo.

You crane you neck upupupUP to get a better look at him, holy hell he’s probably six five, and judging from the way he slammed you against those lockers, probably not the meek little clown he once was.

“Who else would it be motherfucker? Been so long, Karbro, too long,” a flash of regret passes through his violet eyes, “Sorry I had to all up and ruff a brother up, I just don’t want anybody hurtin’ my boy Tavros here.”

“Tavros?...” oh right, the boy you knocked over. The kid in the wheelchair. Fuck. Quickly, you spin to look at him, “I am so sorry. I can be a dipshit sometimes, forgot to look where I was going. Uh, hey.” You end awkwardly and dip you head at him.

The boy in the wheelchair looks ruffled, but fine as far as you can tell, and nods meekly back at you, “M-my name’s Tavros. Uh, but you already knew that, dang. Sorry, I didn’t think…” he twiddles his thumbs and looks to the giant behind you for reassurance. He’s not that impressionable; a skinny-framed kid with moony, light brown eyes, a jet black Mohawk, and light brown skin. He looked like he was Spanish.

“The name’s Karkat,” you shift the backpack on your shoulders and look up at Gamzee again, “Hey, I need to get to lunch. I don’t want detention my first fucking day back. That’d be the perfect thing to top with my swelling eye.” You bite your lip, “Uh, sorry.”

“No problem bro, it was my bad,” Gamzee says, “But we got to be hanging out again soon! It’s been six years, right? Damn. I’m living in the same house, if you wanna drop by. Be seein’ ya Karbro.” He waves a massive hand before taking Tavros by the handles of his wheelchair and disappearing down the hall. You hear Tavros squeak goodbye.

Smiling to yourself, you turn to high-tail it to lunch—fucking clown, making you almost late.

You had missed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an introductory chapter! Gamzee and Tavros--yay! Sorry it was short, but I know how I want the next few chapters to play out and if I tried including this one it would have been REAAAAAAALLY long. So be patiente mi amigos, mas a venir :D


	4. Band Room Blues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to have this up Saturday but I was away ;-; I'm just not gonna make anymore promises about updates xD Just know that they should update once a week. Anywho, enjoy and extra-long chapter :)  
> ~Enjoy

“Karkat!” his voice rings clear through the cacophony of voices; you crane your head toward the noise. From out of the throng of people materializes John from seemingly out of nowhere. Your friend walks up to you and loops an arm around your neck in one of his bro-hugs (shuttupthatsallitis) and you raise your eyebrows in greeting.

“So, where do we sit and what is edible in this hole?”

John laughs(It used to be annoying, but now it sounds musical and dorky and you love it), and flings an arm towards the back of the immense room, “I sit with Jade and Rose and Dave, oh, and a few of our older friends! Gamzee used to sit with us but then he started going out with Tavros so sits outside with a few of—”

You do a double take and clearly it shows in your eyes. 

“What, do you know him?”  
“Uh, yeah. I actually just bumped into them on the way here. Gamzee’s gay?”  
John blinks, “Is that a problem?”  
“No! I mean, no,” you say, cursing your past self to the depths of oblivion, “Not at all it’s just…that guy?”  
Your friend laughs, “Yeah, it kinda shocked us, but believe it or not, Tavros actually got him to stop doing pot.”  
Your journey to the lunch table is stopped when you nearly fall flat on your face. “He got him to *what*? Hopy shit, John, what were you thinking? The guy’s apeshit crazy when he’s not high! We have to get him out of the school and to his dealer and —”

You are shushed when John pats your shoulder, “We were worried about it at first too, but Tavros does something to him. He hasn’t smoked since seventh grade.”

“Oh.” By the time he finishes explaining you’re already at the table, where Jade hops up and chokes you nearly to death in another hug. Two other people are at the table but not nearly as quick to get up—one is clad in a red hood and has his white-and-black converse propped up on the table. He looks up at you through a dark pair of shades and offers an indifferent stare. You immediately decide you don’t like him. 

The other you instantly recognize and your eyes widen with surprise. He’s still skinny as ever, wearing a yellow-with-black striped shirt and those stupid bifurcated glasses—but what really lets you know it’s him is his untidy bedhead of white hair and startling white skin.

“Sollux?”

“KK.” He grunts, and offers a short-lived smile. It’s quick, but you can still see the horrible cross bite that causes his lisp. 

Jade ushers you down and sandwiches you between her and Sollux. John sits down one chair over from her. The strangely silent kid is sitting across from him.

“So, uh, Karkat. This is our table. We usually have seven people—and we used to have eight but like I said Gamzee left—but Rose isn’t here and the other one…I can’t find her today,” a strange emotion passes over his face but you can’t quite catch it, “ And oh! This is Dave! Dave, Karkat, Karkat, Dave.” He gestures to the kid who twitches his hand in your direction.

Uh, this guy. You hate him *so much* already. The insufferable little…

“Tho KK, long time no see,” Sollux says, breaking your train of thought. You blink, and say tersely, “No shit, it’s been six years. Little Thollux is all grown up and Gamzee’s got a boyfriend.” 

He sneers and lobs and apple at you. You easily dodge it.

“Karkat,” Jade sighs and rolls her eyes. From there the tension is broken, and the rest of lunch passes pretty quickly. The food isn’t TOO bad, and you are able to choke down (literally, Sollux almost cried he laughed so hard) on a slice of pizza, and everything is just how it used to be. Before the you moved. Before the accident. You successful manage to forget even after the bell rings. Dave leaves first and waves bye to John and Jade, and offers a nod to Sollux. You open your mouth to snap, ‘goodbye,’ when the fucker actually *smirks* and flicks you the bird.

You’re preeetty sure your mouth hits the table and he’s gone before you can charge up and bitch slap him.

“What the hell,” you growl, and John chuckles. You turn your eyes to him and growl again. Jade laughs and gets up, yelling bye as she goes, and Sollux gives you a awkward hug before waving bye to John and sloughing off in the other direction.

“And that’s our lunch group. Or, most of it.”

“They’re great, couldn’t be happier with your choice of friends, save for that douchecanoe Strider. What insufferable cesspool of hipsters did you reel him out of, anyway?” you grumble, shouldering your book bag on.

John tugs his on before smiling again and walking forward. You follow.

“Dave? Yeah, he is douchey sometimes, but it’s all part of his ‘cool-kid’ irony thing. It’s a little confusing, I try not to think about it. But he’s really a great person, if you can stomach more than one meeting with him,” a far-away look clouds his vision when he continues, “He moved in the year after you left. Filled a kind of hole, ya know? He’s an awesome friend.”

And, like the complete *ass* you are, you blurt out, “What, so he was my fucking replacement?” you pucker your lips and blush profusely the moment the words escape. John looks a bit hurt, and a horrible feeling hits your gut. “Wait—shitshit—no, I didn’t mean that! I kinda just…left, and of course it’s fine he helped you feel better and—oh my God, John, I’m just gonna shut up now, and…” 

John shakes his head, “No, it’s fine. Sorry, I shouldn’t have put it like that. But, Karkat…no one could replace you, dude. I promise. He’s just a bro. But you’re my broiest bro,” he says, ridiculous teeth poking out over his lip.

“Just when I think that you’ve said the dumbest thing…” you start, rant cocked and ready to fire, but stop once you realize the two of you have been walking the same way this whole time. During the conversation your feet have carried you all the way outside between the lunch building and C.

“Huh, looks like we have the next period together,” John says, smiling broadly. You think you mutter back some half-thought out response, but you don’t really remember over the sudden surge of happiness in your gut.

“Woop-di-fuckin-do,” you say, twirling your finger in the air. The big dope snickers. 

You arrive at the entrance at C building and John holds the door open for you and imitates sweeping his arm, much like you did when he visited your house. Sticking out your tongue, you march past. He bounces to your side.

Mrs. Reece, the teacher indicated on your schedule. Is the AP bio teacher. You haven’t had her yet, but her class is almost parallel to the band room, so it should be easy to find(plus, you have John, but the kid used to lose his bearings in the fucking *park*). 

The two of you open the door and walk into the room. It is a mess: The teacher is sitting on the desk, stack of papers slipping from her lap while air planes, wads of paper, and erasers soar through the air around her. Some kids are propped up on the desks with violins and violas, strumming out tuning notes, five are engaged in a paper war (the reason for the plane that just dug itself in your ear), while most are just clustered in circles, talking with chums.

You clutch John and duck an eraser aimed for your neck, and your friend expertly snatches it out of the air. Suddenly you’re thankful for those years in baseball, this place is a madhouse. He laughs, 

“Willow thinks free time should be ‘spent by venting your day’s frustrations,’” he explains, twitching his fingers into air quotations, “So it can get crazy,” he laughs, ducking another airplane.

“Willow?” Great, your biology teacher was a crazy one. John shrugs and gives a look to say, ‘I know right?’ and excuses himself. Before you can act, the buck-tooth wonder has slipped to the far side of the room. He situates himself between some weird girl with a cat-ear hairband and a tall, brooding hulk. You consider walking over, but figure it must be something important because his eyebrows are doing this little twitchy think he does whenever he’s upset, and his smile isn’t as wide as usual. 

You guess whatever’s up will be told to you if it’s important, but you can’t help but feel a little distressed when you break away from the front of the class to find some corner to sink down in. You have an entire list of Spanish vocab to go over—might as well use the time for something useful.

For a moment you duck you head down to rummage through your book bag while continuing your walk to the back of the room—and you bump into someone.  
“My bad,” you sputter, jerking your head up to look at the person you hit. Only, imagine your surprise when all you can see is a black shiny Mohawk. Your eyes travel downward to find that stuttering kid in the wheelchair you hit earlier.

“Haha, you just, really like bumping into me, huh?” he smiles up at you through those dopey brown eyes. Instantly you lock up.

“Dammit, I’m sorry—”

“No, it—it’s okay,” he waves you off, “Karkat, right?” Oh well, so much for studying. You reach for a chair behind you and slide it from the table, maneuvering yourself onto the seat.

“Yeah. Tavros?” he nods.

“I, uh, didn’t know you had Mrs. Reece. I don’t have her till, mm, later. Maybe we’ll have the same class? From what Gam has said, you, uh, sound like a pretty cool guy. It’d be cool to get to know my boyfriend’s, uh, ‘motherfuckin’ best bro.’” He smiles and you give him a small grin in reply.

“Sure.”

“Tavros?” from behind you comes a voice as smooth as silk, delicate, and with a slight question lingering at the name, “Who is this?” 

“Oh, sorry Kanaya. This is, um, Karkat.” Tavros’s eyebrows do s little jump and he blushes, “I, uh, sorry, lemme make some room.” The boy abruptly thrusts his arms forward and pushes himself to the side, manipulating the wheelchair smoothly before easing into the empty space next to you. 

“Thank you.” The feminine voice says, “though it was hardly necessary. I could have just pulled a chair over there.” And a girl—no, seraph, some part of your brain echoes—steps from behind you and seats herself delicately in the chair across from Tavros. 

She is tall, taller than you (and that’s not saying much) but not gawky in the least. All grace and poise, and wearing a black sweater(not turtle neck, unlike yours) and a brilliant, sweeping skirt the deepest of reds. Her hair is jet black and swept professionally to the side, and starkly contrasts with her emerald eyes and pearly skin. 

You can barely keep from gaping like a derp when she turns her curious eyes towards you and smiles, green lips quirked. “It is always nice to meet a friend of Tavros’s , anyhow. Nice to meet you, I am Kanaya.”

“Hey,” you say. Ohmygod is that all you can say? Stop gawking like a lost puppy! “Yeah, you too. I’m actually new. Well, not *really* new, I used to live here when I was younger and some stuff happened so now I’m back and—fuck I’m rambling,” you execute a sloppy facepalm x2 combo, jabbing yourself in the eye and making a fresh stab of pain wash over your already injured eye socket. 

Kanaya laughs(it sounds like wind chimes) and shakes her head, “No, no, it’s fine. I’m prone to rambling myself. No need to get worked up about it.”

You open your mouth to reply when suddenly you’re shadowed by a tall figure and you find your mouth occupied by two hands and your head being used like a fucking end table.  
“Shoosh, no, stop, he’ll go off about how stupid past him is and go off a ramble to end all rambles that will somehow turn into a critique on my ‘inferior movie tastes’.” Egbert successfully endures your arm wiggles of furry, only letting go when you lick his hand.

“Ugh, Karkat, did you actually just *lick* me?” he says in mock horror.

“Damn straight,” you retort with what you hope is a smug look. But ugh. That tasted awful. It is then you remember you have people within your vicinity, and you blush to the end of the Earth when Tavros laughs and Kanaya quirks and eyebrow. John detangles himself from you and leans, elbows splayed, on the table.

“Hey guys, see you met Karkat? Don’t worry; he’s all bark and no bite. Like a puppy! Ow!” 

You smack him on the head. He ‘accidentally’ loses balance and slips onto your lap. You both fall, get up, and you smack him once more for good measure. 

And then you continue on with conversation with the three like the fucking gentlemen you are.  
~*~   
Twenty minutes later, after saying goodbye to Kanaya and Tavros, you and John are in the band storage room for your next class.

Currently, you are up to your elbows in saxophone cases, trying with all the grace you can muster(none at all) not to knock over your classmates as you wield the awkward woodwind. To your surprise(and disgust) Strider is also in band, and woop-di-fucking-do, is also an alto. He unpacks his instrument and seemingly floats out of the door and into the band room. As much as you hate to admit it, the dude’s got his glide step down pat.

Jade is waiting, flute in hand, by the door when you finally get your sax together. 

“Fucking douche I swear.” You mutter; she puts a hand over her mouth and giggles.  
“Hot douche, if you ask me.”   
Okay, ew.

“Just—where do I sit? And where the hell did John go?”

“Oh, he’s percussion. Their class is the next one over,” she explains, walking you over to the far side of the room where Strider and a few other kids are talking, saxes resting on their knees, “They come over to practice with the full band once a week on Fridays.”

“Oh.” You say, slightly deflated. Well, damn, guess he’s not really in this class with you either. Jade seems to catch your pause and puts a hand on your shoulder, “Don’t worry, I’m sure you guys will have classes later.”

“Yeah, probably,” you say. You say thanks to Jade(no problem Karcrab!) and she takes the row of seats in front of you with the other flutes.

Your teacher, Mr. Allen, is pretty amazing. The class is fun, and thank God the band is competent, great even, and by the time class is over you are reminded just how much you love band. Even Strider and his seemingly perfect playing(like what the hell, the guy was last chair next to you and he easily sounded better than first chair) The Christmas concert is coming up, and as you pack up your instrument, you pat your pocket to make sure Sing of Christmas, Beyond the Seven Hills, and Crystal Moon are tucked securely in.

The bell rings and you give your goodbyes to the two—a wave to Jade and a mutual birdy to Strider—and you head down to the next room to wait for John to exit. You were one of the first people out, so he still must be inside.

One by one percussionists trickle out in singles and pairs, entire groups. The teacher follows suite. Even Gamzee, to your great surprise, exits and offers a hug before wandering down the hall. Thirty seconds ticks to one minute and before you know it, a quick look at your watch confirms you have only two minutes left to get to class—but Willow is right across from this one so you have plenty of time.  
“Dammit, John, I swear…” Mumbling under your breath, you pull down the lever to one of the large double doors of the percussion room. It is dark on the inside. The only door in and out is the one you’re standing in—he must be in the storage room.  
“J-John?” you whisper into the dark, and curse to yourself; he can’t hear you idiot he’s in the other room. 

The door swings shut behind you and clicks when you enter, and an uneasy feeling instantly socks you in the gut. Something seems…off. But you’re dumb and stupid and it’s *THE SCHOOL DAMMIT CALM DOWN.* The large room with the fiberglass stalactites stretches out in front of you, and your foot steps are strangled in the thick carpet underfoot.

Slowly, you make your way across the room. About halfway across you hear a strange…popping noise?...emitting softly from the end of the room. A strange feeling settles in your gut and the rest of the journey is nearly forgotten in a smear of darkness and drop of sensation and you’re *there*, in the room, abused door you guess you slammed open splintered on the wall, stomach retching and eyes watering.

Through the dark of the room someone yells—John’s voice—and is followed by a scream to ‘get the fuck out’ by a shriller, higher voice. You just stand there, world spinning and lunch threatening to resurface. Move. Move you idiot, get out!

Your legs suddenly jump back to life when a light slices through the storage room(must be a phone, you dimly think) and suddenly you spring to life. There was no way they saw you, you were out of there way too fast, but you saw him—ruffled and flushed, blue lipstick trailing over his collarbone and glasses ajar. 

You can’t stop: You hear the blood pumping in your ears, see the lockers sly by in smears of grey, feel the cold autumn air blast your face, and before you know it you’re running down the street. Far, far, FAR away from the damn school, home as fast as your motherfucking legs will carry you (fucking *fast*), and away from John and for the moment, the sobs that threaten to crush your lungs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so, this series IS going somewhere. Like I said, I have everything planned out, and this was the first thing to get the wheels churning! I hope you liked it and, as always, criticism and feedback are greatly appreciated :)


	5. Anger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, don't be mad at me. I'm in the middle of a killer writer's block and try as I might I can't write anything on this darn story! So, I wrote what I could at the moment--only three pages, but hey, it's an update right? Enjoy~

“Shhhhhhhhit.”

You’re pretty sure you’ve never been more red in your entire life. Someone just walked in on you and your girlfriend, and even if it was just a sloppy make out, it’s still embarrassing as hell!

“Shhhhhhhhit!” she reiterates, pushing up off your chest and smoothing her hair down.  
Wordlessly, you button up your shirt collar with one hand and flick your phone at the door—but the person is already gone.  
“Vriska, it’s fine, they left.” You say, breathing a sigh of relief. You look up at the short, thin girl standing unsure beside you, and she gives you a look as if to say, ‘You idiot.’

“You idiot,” ouch, you hate it when you’re right, “ It could have been a teacher who was too embarrassed of horny teenage shenanigans to break us up! They’re probably coming back with another reinforcements!.”

You open your mouth to correct her on said horny shenanigans, it was *just* kissing, really, when she yanks you up roughly by the arm (Though she be tiny, she be mighty) and you yelp in surprise.

“Go! Gogogogogogogogo!” 

And you’re rushing out of the band room towards Mrs.Reece’s.  
~~~~~~~~~

You slam the door to your room, dangerously rattling your shelf in the process. The next victim of your blind, sniffling rampage is your pillow. It’s soft and fluffy surface is reduced to a soggy mess, and before long the spot your head is buried in is soaked through.

The adrenaline in your veins and sadness are suddenly drowned out in a burst of anger when you sit up and see the drenched mess. Damnit. DAMMIT. You don’t cry! Not after your parents, and not after some douche.  
Red tinges on the edge of your vision and you rake your nails down the pillow, the riiiippp tearing cleanly through the air. Another claw—sssnnip. Another fist—feathers fly. Another damn tear—and your breath catches. 

After a good three minutes of violence, your fatigue seems to catch up with you and you slump backwards against the wall, legs tucked underneath you. Silent now, little huffs of breath punctuating the seconds, you look blankly at the once whole pillow. The poor thing is shredded and the remaining clumps lumpy, and not to mention wet with your damn tears. 

Anger. Something you never really were able to get a hold of. After a moment of staring at the ruined cushion, you laugh. But it’s hollow, and bitter. To think that after everything that’s happened, you’d cry over a guy.

An asshole.

An idiot.

Your best friend.

And a total heterosexual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, even though Bucktoothed-Addiction is in a slump at the moment doesn't mean that I won't be updating at all. I have the next chapter in But a Color right here in my word doc, expect it to be up tomorrow. IM DOING IT I PROMISE. Also, to get the gears going, there might be a one-shot JohnKat coming up in the near future. Thanks for reading guys, it's truly the fans that make the writer :)


	6. Help.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title is pretty self-explanatory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be maaaaaaad but please, please read it all the way through.

>>>Continue Reading.

You can't continue reading. Something is wrong! Horribly wrong.

>>>Investigate

You decide to investigate what could possibly be the reason as to why you cannot read this fanfic. The screen before you winks black, before rebooting again. A girl sits at her desk. She is nothing remarkable, really, and you can't see why she has anything to do with the problem at hand--

"Hey! I'll have you know that this 'girl at the desk' is a very important aspect to this dilemma!"

Oh. She can hear you? Huh. Maybe she is relevant.

>>>Question girl.

This girl is very curious. Why is it that she claims to be so important, this bland girl at her bland desk? You decide to humor her, and ask why it is she is vital to your current ficless situation.

"I'm the writer, duh. I made this fic."

>>>What??

What? If she is the writer, and she is at her desk, why isn't she writing?? An update was promised, dangit, why is she just sitting there?

>>WHY ARE YOU JUST SITTING THERE?

"I'm not 'just sitting here.' I have a problem. I've been staring at this blank screen *forever* and I can't come up with anything! Nothing! It's infuriating. I know how I want this story to end, but--but I just can't get there. I don't know what to do."

>>>Write, woman!

You know what to do! Move your fingers, those wonderful things called phalanges that have the ability to press on a keyboard. Obviously this girl is very dumb, everyone knows how to type.

"No! Ugh, just. I know how to type. I'm just stuck in a writers block. I want to continue, really, but I want it to be *good* and live up to your standards! I just need something to...I don't know, get the creative juices flowing?"

>>>Have an idea.

You get a wonderful idea! 

>>>Express wonderful idea.

"Huh? Prompts? What do you mean by--OH. THAT'S PERFECT. But, would anyone be willing to do It?...Oh, whatever, I'll give it a shot."

>>>Be the author.

You are now the author. You have just spoken with a strange omnipotent being who likes to read you fics. Weird, but you just decided to roll with it. Anyways, it has just advised you to do something amazing--let the readers guide you. You begin at once updating My Buck-Toothed Addiction; you only hope people see this and read through. You type that you are having terrible, terrible writer's block, and that you've come to an unfortunate stop with your updating. but perhaps they can help? 

\--Hi guys! So, I know it's been forever since the last update, and I'm really sorry. I intend on seeing this and But a Color to the very end! So I ask you this: Send in prompts. Any prompts, and all prompts. The ones that I can do or sound very interesting will be updated--yes, just for you. characterxcharacters, AU's, One Shots galore--anything to get the creative juices flowing. Plus, I think this would be a great way to connect more with the readers. If this works(which I really think it will) I should be able to crank out the main stories with your suggestions in between. I think this will be a great idea, I hope you do too--thanks everyone!--  
~BL4R1233

There. Maybe that will help.

>>>Update chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I regret nothing.


	7. Strawberries and Cherries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week has passed since what you're calling The Incident. You need to get over yourself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt bad for not updating in so long, so I sat down and wrote. School ends tomorrow, so I haven't plenty of time to update my stories! I KNOW WHAT I'M GOING TO HAVE HAPPEN IM GETTING THERE I PROMISE. This chapter is more of a transition, expect another one within the next 2 weeks or so, including a new chapter for But a Color. Thanks for all your wonderful comments, they are always welcome :)

It’s been a week since The Incident, and you’re still having problems talking to John. He’s picking up on it too. In language arts you’ve successfully managed not to talk to him unless absolutely needed. Today he even asked you for a pencil, and you handed it over without a word. He had this weird mixture of hurt and curiosity in his voice when he thanked you—it made you feel like an absolute asshole.

With the end of class, you were shuffling out the door when a hand caught you by the shoulder.

“Karkat,” John’s voice met your ears and you stiffened, “Dude, what’s up? Seriously, you’ve been acting really weird lately. Everyone’s noticed it too, but you’ve barely spoken a word to anyone! You know…you know you can talk to me about it right?” 

God, you can hear the concern in his voice. Are you ok? How can I make you feel better? It’s making your stomach churn.

“I’m fine Egbert,” you deadpan. He spins you around. His eyes are a misty blue, more clouded than you remember ever seeing them. John opens his mouth to speak.  
“I said I’m FINE!” you snarl, and rip your shoulder away. You turn and stomp out into the hall.

John doesn’t follow.

~*~

Three hours later and you’re staring at the clock in Spanish. 5…4…3…2…  
And you get the fuck outta Dodge.

Gogogogogo…recently a certain freaky cat-girl(The one who was hanging out with the hulk John talked to on the first day of school) took an interest in you and realized she was your neighbor in Spanish. The girl, Nepeta, had taken to the idea that you were a happy-go-lucky buddy to stick herself to and wouldn’t leave you the fuck alone, no matter how many hints you dropped. 

Hell, you’d even told her to buzz off. She’d responded by making bee noises the rest of the period.  
You’re almost at the end of the hall now. One turn and the lunch room is right down the—  
“KAAAARKITYYY!~”

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE—”

You are plowed into by 120 pounds of cat-girl and are slung into the wall. The kids in the hallway don’t bat an eye, and fill the space you had occupied.  
Cursing, you push her off and retrieve your book bag. Nepeta is already up and bouncing on her heels when you stand, rubbing your offended arm.   
You sigh, “Hey, Nepeta—“

“Karkitty! It is very fun when you run you know, but you’ll never escape. I am the mighty huntress, and I will catch you a million times over with my furrocious claws! Heehee!” she giggles and flicks her wrists at you playfully.

“Right, cat’s and shit. Fucking meow. Listen, as much as getting pounded like I’m a fucking punching bag makes me want to hurl rainbows of happiness all over Gamzee’s miracle-loving ass, I have places to go. People to talk to,” you move to diffuse back in the crowd.

“That’s a lie Karkitty, I know fur a fact you have been acting purrplexingly lately. You’re going to walk in that lunch room and eat in the courtyard again. Alone.”  
“Wait, what? How do you?” you spin and look down at her(she’s actually shorter than you, whatthefuck?).

Her emerald eyes grow larger, almost like disks, and you resist the urge to take a step back, “I’ve been watching you, Karkitty. Your furriends are worried. John has mentioned it many times in guided study. I just wanted to know why you feel this way.” She looks up at you and cocks her head to the side.

“That’s none of your damn business,” you spit, stepping into the crowd of people. She steps in next to you, much to your annoyance, “And stop stalking me!”  
“I’m not stalking you! I’m just curious.”

“Yeah, well, curiosity killed the cat.” The two of you round the corner. Down the hall is the entrance to the massive lunchroom, and hanging above the double doors is a big elaborate banner declaring that Homecoming is just around the corner.

You look to your side to see Nepeta still there, eyes cast up at the poster. 

“Are you going to Homecoming?”

“What? No,” you reply with less venom. You were hoping on some stupid idea that maybe you could ask John there but. He’d probably be going with Whoever The Fuck. You can’t help but feel a drop in your stomach.

“You wanted to ask John, didn’t you?” her question makes your blood run cold.

You flare your nostrils and speed up, hoping to distance yourself, but she shoves forward with you. Stupid cat-girl. Stupid persistent stalker cat-girl.  
You whirl on her, “That’s none of your damn business stalker!”

“I told you, I’m not stalking you. I saw the way you looked at him. You two have been friends a long time, haven’t you?” She was being completely serious. The cat puns were nonexistent.

Relenting a bit, you run a hand through your hair in frustration. 

“Nepeta, listen,” you start. The two of you are pushed into the over-crowded lunch room. It reeks of sickly-sweet fruit and overcooked hotdogs, “I’m having enough problems on my own without someone ‘trying to be there for me,’” you make little air quotes, “so I appreciate the effort. Really. But I’d fucking love it if you could drop it.”  
The strange girl smiles wide, “Of course Karkitty. But if you efur need somepawdy to talk to, don’t hesitate to talk to me, okay?”

“Sure, whatev—” 

“EQUIUS!” you jump when she promptly flips the fuck out and tackle-pounces an enormous brute of a highschooler coming in from the west entrance of the café. He catches her with mild annoyance before setting her down. They begin to chat—well, he begins to listen. Nepeta motors away.  
You can’t help but let a small sigh of relief pass through your lips.

From there you make your way over to the nearest lunch line and are about to step into place when something whacks your leg.  
“Exuuuuuse me!” a sharp voice cuts through the air behind you and you cringe, temper flaring.

“Excuse the fuck yourself! I was here fir—oh.” Your voice dies in your throat, quickly followed by a surge of guilt that clogs your throat. Behind you stands a girl of around your own height, ginger and freckled. She’s smiling in a totally fucking creepy manner, sporting disturbingly sharp teeth and black aviator sunglasses. What catches your sight the most?  
She’s whacking your leg repeatedly with a cane.

The students behind you are shooting you looks that could kill, and they have the right to be. Some shouty twerp cussing out a blind girl? Waytago, douche.   
“Shit,” you say, stepping out of the way. People shove past you, “I’m sorry, past me is a shit-eating moron. I didn’t realize you were…uh. Fuck.” Stupid Karkat, insensitive Karkat.  
“Blind?” The way she draws out the word makes you shiver, and the maniacal cackle that follows does nothing to stop the creep that runs up your spine. “I would have thought the cane gave it away, you insensitive jerk.” Her mouth curves down in a disapproving frown.

You flinch. Damn, you are such an idiot. 

“Kidding, kidding!” she quickly falls into another grin and socks you in the arm and wow that kinda hurt. She has surprisingly good aim. “You gonna stand there and make me starve or we going to get in line?”  
“Oh. Uh—”

“Yo! TZ, this ass giving you a hard time?” 

Fuck. Up from behind her saunters a perfectly-douchey Dave Strider, radiating an odd aura of detachment and annoyance. He walks up and places a hand on both of your shoulders, leaning in and looming over the both of you with his stupid fucking glasses and his stupid fucking smirk. It makes your blood boil.

“Best back off my girl there Short Stack, or I’ll have to start a strife,” he says so flippantly you want to land a punch on that passive face of his. You are about to go adorabloodthirsty on his ass when TZ—at least your assume that’s her name—catches him by the arm and pulls him over, delivering a long and sloppy lick up the side of his face. 

The fuck?

“TEREZI!” he practically screeches, arms flailing and face burning impossibly red. You howl with laughter, anger forgotten. You lean against the wall to keep from falling over, and watch as Strider proceeds to go off on a rant about how that was SO not cool, and how he’s have to power-wash his face—‘put that shit on HIGH TZ!’—before you decide he looks like a very flustered hen.

“This has all been very entertaining, Strider and friend, but I’ve got reheated hotdog to choke down.” Wiping a tear from your eye, you leave the two to bicker and pick up your lunch.

~*~

“Sigh.” You pick half-heartedly at a half-eaten apple, flicking the hunks out into the courtyard. You’re hungry, but you can’t bring yourself to eat any of this.   
‘This whole situation is so stupid. I came here to feel *better,* not wallow in self-pity like a lost puppy. It’s been six years…I shouldn’t get so worked up like this. It makes total sense that he’d have gotten a...a…girlfriend in this time.’ The thought is harder to deal with than you’d think.

“Besides…no one would like me anyway,” you breathe, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. You know that doing this to yourself isn’t healthy, but retreating is all you’ve ever done in the past six years.

Releasing another sigh, you lean your head back against the building and look up into the pale autumn sky. The school’s campus is adorned with trees, and a multitude of leaves are blown across your field of vision. Crisp air blows over the roof, stimulating a breeze, and you breathe in the cool air. This is why you’ve been eating out here: It’s peaceful and quiet, absolute musts for when you need to think things through.

Lunch forgotten, you stare out into the large courtyard and contemplate your current situation. ‘I should go in there,’ you think, ‘stop being such a baby and eat with your friends.’ Deep down, you know that’s what you want more than anything. You haven’t spoken to Sollux since your first day: the ass has all advanced classes and you aren’t in a single one of them. You’ve seen Jade on the bus, but you’ve given her the cold shoulder every time she tries to approach you…God, past you is an idiot.

And John…

Your thoughts drift to the goof, untamed black hair and joyful eyes...complete opposite of what you saw this morning in language arts. And it’s your fault. Before you realize, your eyes fixate on the spot in the courtyard the percussion gather every morning to practice. You can see him there now; head bobbing, hands flying over the tenor’s six heads. Your stomach does a stupid little flip.

“Kitkat. Earth to Kitkat,” a completely unwelcome voice meets your ears.

Resisting the urge to growl, you look up and raise your lip, “What the fuck do you want?”

“Love you too Honey,” Strider replies coolly, throwing you off the slightest bit. Him and his fucking irony, “Listen I know you hate my guts for no good reason but the lady wanted to talk to you, and the table’s a drag today, so I’m gonna plant my fine ass in your personal space today, k?”

You squint and throw him your best BackTheFuckOff face but either he purposely ignores you or those damn shades of his prevent him from seeing your death stare. He rocks back on his heels and slides down in one smooth motion down beside you.

It is then you notice the weird ginger—Terezi?—behind him. 

“Helloooo Karkles. Mr. Strawberry Shortcake has told me about you and I came to see if you really were a tiny rage monster.” You’re pretty sure this chick is insane, and you flinch when she strides over and stops to stand in front of you. “Stand up please.” A shark-like smile pulls at her lips.  
“You heard the lady. Wouldn’t want to make a bling girl cry would you?” Strider barks a short laugh that makes your blood boil, and you push yourself up off the ground with a huff. Your lunch tray is thrown over onto the floor.

“Terezi, is it? What do you want? And who the hell is Strawberry Shortcake?” you ask, trying your hardest to ignore Strider’s gaze you can feel boring into the back of your head.   
It is then the single most terrifying thing you have ever experienced comes sliding up the side of your face.  
“Ah-hah, I knew it! Cherries!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I'd end it on a more humorous note. Yay, Terezi! I want to work in all the main cast somehow, and she's going to prove to be a bit of an important character later. Stay tuned for updates! And it you want something a little more fast-paced, I direct you to Grey is but a Color, updating soon :D http://archiveofourown.org/works/1072628/chapters/2152949

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh JohnKat. I've never written JohnKat, and though I don't approve of it In the actual Homestuck comic, I completely fall for it in fanfics >w


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